


let's lose ourselves

by sumomomochi



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, POV First Person, Post-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Redemption, Virgin Kylo Ren, after the last jedi, def gonna be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2018-11-18 17:39:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11295516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumomomochi/pseuds/sumomomochi
Summary: Following the destruction of Starkiller Base, General Hux and an unconscious Ren are captured by the Resistance. Hux comes up with a desperate ploy to trick the Resistance into believing hes defected willingly : he's a distraction to Ren slated to be disposed of, a story of star crossed lovers to appeal to the Resistance. His lie ends up being more true than he expected.





	1. caught under false pretenses

**Author's Note:**

> HOO BOY it sure has been a minute
> 
> full disclosure idk if im actually going to finish this. this fic has been sitting in my gdocs for a good year and a half waiting for me to have the brainpower to finish the last chapter. that might be a thing thats happening? maybe? i hope? at the very least ive got a thousand words of outlining for the last chapter so i can tell yall how it ends if i cant manage the prose, but i have managed to squeeze out like five hundred words in the last day which is a whole lot more than ive managed total in the last _year_ so im hopeful. mostly i want to get this out before the last jedi since its going to be so completely jossed so here have a fic
> 
> also all the titles come from muse songs. idek which ones coz i know the names of precisely two muse songs despite knowing the entire discography by heart but

Kylo Ren has been a constant source of irritation since day one. From the moment we met, he’s done nothing but cause trouble for me -- first by destroying my ship and crew with his tantrums, then by getting his idiot self bested by a mere _child_ , and now. _Now_.

I followed orders. With everything in my head screaming at me to go down with my sinking ship, to go out with a blaze of glory, to _get out_ , I followed orders. I tracked down Ren, desperately flying a shuttle low over the cracking planet of my once greatest triumph. I found him; I dragged his near lifeless body out of the cold and into the hold of the ship. I got the two of us out of the atmo being sucked into the birth of a new star.

I followed orders and it landed me right into the hands of the _fucking_ Resistance.

There was a moment of pure euphoria when the shuttle I was piloting broke into open space. The hard part was over, or so I had thought. I had Ren and we had both survived fleeing the imploding Starkiller. All that was left was to dock with the Finalizer and then make our way to the Supreme Leader. 

In reality, Resistance ships surrounded the corpse of Starkiller like flies and we were sucked into a freighter turned warship. 

***

I estimate that I have approximately a minute and a half before my shuttle comes to a halt inside the cargo bay of the freighter that captured us, then another thirty or so seconds before it’s forcefully boarded. I take ten of those precious one-hundred-twenty seconds to scream into my hands, a petty, _stupid_ waste of time, but cathartic nonetheless. Then I stand and make my way to where I had unceremoniously dumped Ren’s limp body. He’s still sprawled out on the floor, mercifully unconscious; useless. The shuttle ceases its shuddering. I need a plan and I need it now.

I need a plan and I need it _fifteen seconds ago_.

The shuttle’s bay doors open, leaving me to stare down a dozen of the Resistance’s finest. What a picture I must make, shivering and soaked through with snow and sweat from having to drag Ren’s ungainly body off the surface of Starkiller. I can feel the panic rise within me. I pull my eyes from the blasters aimed at me to glance at Ren. An idea hits me so suddenly I nearly forget to breathe and it’s so perfect I have to fight a smile.

I let my panic seep into my expression as I raise my shaking hands in surrender.

“I -- he needs help,” I start, unsure, half act and half truth. I really have no idea what I’m doing, or if it will even work, and the words taste like glass on my tongue as I force them out, pleading, “Please, I can’t let him die.”

I can’t -- Ren’s death would be my failure, which would be my death in turn, were I to survive the failure of Starkiller. Being captured by the enemy is very nearly a death sentence of its own, if it weren’t for this scheme I’ve shat out in between one breath and the next. I’m betting solely on the notions of _love_ and _friendship_ to protect me from the execution I rightly deserve.

My gamble pays off, for now at least. A sharp gesture from the squad leader has a medic running up the slope of the bay entrance. I step neatly, slowly, to the side to give them room to work, letting my gaze fall back on Ren for the time. I do my best to look heartbroken, or at the very least scared, and offer no resistance when my arms are pulled roughly behind my back and shackled in place.

I don’t have to fake my fear when they march me away.

“I -- He, he doesn’t know I’m doing this,” I stammer, twisting to look back at Ren over my shoulder. He groans weakly as the medic, joined by another, rolls him onto a backboard. There’s a large smear of blood under them. I bark at them, “He’s a Force-user. Sedate him so he doesn’t --” fuck up everything I’m planning, “-- blow up the ship. He doesn’t know I’m doing this,” I repeat, sounding half mad to my own ears.

This entire plan is mad, requiring Ren to play along to even have half a chance of working. 

***

I’m left alone in an empty storage room turned cell. There’s no telling what’s going on with Ren, separated as we are. I can only hope the medics took my advice and are keeping him sedated. That would, at the very least, allow me some time to actually come up with a plan more solid than what I already have.

First off: I’ve laid the groundwork. I’ve implied I defected willingly, bringing a clueless Ren along, and that I have strong _feelings_ for him. It’s not much, but it’s a start. If I can relay this plan to Ren, if he concedes to play along with this charade, if the Resistance higher-ups are as soft as I assume, there may be a way out of this situation.

If, if, if.

At the very least, I am a valuable prisoner. I may one day have to pay for the decisions I’ve made, the orders I’ve given, but that day is a long way off.

My first objective: talk to Ren; convince him that the plan I’ve already put into action is a viable one, one worthy of the effort needed to maintain it.

(Sitting alone here, in the dark, on the gritty floor of an oversized _closet_ , still damp from my tromp through Starkiller’s snow, with my hands bound behind my back, I concede that this whole plan is completely fucking asinine, but what has been done is done and there’s no going back. I might as well ride this farce I’ve concocted as far as it will take me, even if it’s to my doom.)

Furthermore, I need to devise a way to actually relay this plan to Ren without making it obvious to our captors. Submitting to his telepathic probing is likely the most direct route. It’s not one I’m particularly keen on and would still require me to goad him into reading my mind in the first place. It is, however, an option.

Making contact with Ren, specifically a conscious Ren, is a more difficult task. I will have to beg to see him, grovel and promise to trade First Order secrets for the opportunity. Another task I’m not keen on.

There is no going back. 

***

Shortly, no more than a few hours after my initial capture, I’m pulled from my cell and blindfolded, marched through corridors and out into the open. A breeze caresses my face, the air smelling sharp and clean -- a welcome change from the stuffy recycled air of the cargo ship. I savor it while I can, doubting that I will have the chance to be outdoors again any time soon.

All too soon I’m back indoors, passing through more winding corridors I can’t see. When they finally force me into a chair, they don’t remove the blindfold, leaving me in silence and semi-darkness. Leaving me to stew in my own circulating thoughts.

I doubt I’ve truly been left alone. At the very least, there are guards outside the door, if not inside as well, and if my interrogator isn’t sitting across from me, they’re watching the holo feed. They’re waiting for some sign of weakness. They’re not going to find one. At least, not one I don’t intentionally reveal.

There’s nothing to mark the passage of time other than my own quiet breathing. My uniform has long since dried, though I still feel chilled. My shoulders ache fiercely from being bound. I have to piss. Minor inconveniences -- I’m alive and in the custody of the enemy who, not even days before, welcomed a defecting ‘trooper with open arms.

The door opens surely minutes later, but and not quite hours. I can’t help but tilt my face toward the sound. It doesn’t feel like long enough; were I in their place, I would have made myself wait for eons. They’re either desperate or stupid. Both suit me well enough. I say nothing.

After a moment, my interrogator breaks the silence: “Your name, please.” The voice sounds male, but with the Resistance’s penchant for non-humans, I can’t be sure.

“I’m sure you know very well who I am,” I tell them shortly.

“I do, yes, but for the record, please state your name.”

“Armitage Brendol Hux, General in the First Order, in command of the Finalizer and of Starkiller base,” I pause, bitter, “Formerly in command.” Even if I were to escape right at this moment, there’s no going back to that. I plow on, “I have requests I would like to make in exchange for the information you seek.”

There’s a pause, and then, “Do you believe you are in a position to make demands?”

“Of course,” I scoff, “I’m the highest ranking prisoner you’ve had and I surrendered willingly. I may not be able to truly seek asylum but I can damn well make sure I get something in return for what I have to offer.”

“Are you seeking asylum?”

This is it, the moment I put my plan in words. I offer my interrogator a pinched scowl before I bite out, “Putting aside the fact that prisoners of war are not welcomed back with open arms in the First Order on the occasions they manage to escape your clutches, regardless of rank, my life would be forfeit were I to stay.”

“And why’s that?” They still sound calm, but intrigued. I would be too; after all I’ve achieved, why would I defect?

“Kylo Ren, my companion. He was ordered to kill his father, a man he had not seen since he was a child, due to lingering attachments. Considering this, it felt prudent to remove myself and Ren from the First Order and the Supreme Leader’s influence.”

“The two of you were... involved.”

“Are,” I correct dryly, the words rolling unbidden off my tongue, “provided he doesn’t murder me for delivering him straight to his mother.”

There’s a quiet snort that decidedly does not come from the person who’s been speaking. I raise an eyebrow, failing to see how that could be construed as funny.

“What are your demands?”

“I reserve the ability to make further requests at a later date,” I start, because truthfully I haven’t had a chance to think of anything yet, “I want Ren and I to remain together, in the same cell, and I want to be rid of these bloody cuffs before my arms rip off.”

This time there’s a full out laugh and I can’t help but snipe, “Oh, I’m so glad you’re finding this amusing.”

The one who’s been talking sounds amused when they say, “We’ll have to discuss your _requests_ with our General. Anything else?”

“A trip to the refresher before we start, and I’d like to see Ren once we’re done.”

***

I spend hours answering their questions, blindfold and cuffs gone. It is indeed a man who has been asking me things, roughly my age but shorter, stockier, and darkly coloured. A young woman stands by, offering no comment but the occasional snort in response to my more sarcastic answers. She’s round faced and soft looking, but she stands with impeccable posture by the door. I don’t fully answer everything I’m asked but they take what I offer and assume I’ll expand upon things further after they meet my demands. 

Eventually, the man calls a halt to the questioning. It’s a relief -- my throat is parched, I’m starving, and I haven’t properly slept since before firing Starkiller. All that’s left is to see to Ren and then hopefully I’ll be able to rest.

Suddenly, the girl -- woman asks, “If he's your boyfriend, why don't you call him by his chosen name?” 

“Oh --” I pause, unsure. I hadn't even realized I'd been doing that. “Habit, I suppose. I, we couldn't let on that we had anything more than a professional working relationship.”

Our relationship had been anything but professional, full of bickering and temper tantrums. It was more akin to a teacher dealing with a particularly uncooperative student. It's almost funny in retrospect how many times I had to call him into my office to scold him for destroying something new.

The two of them nod as if in understanding.

I'm asked to stand, blindfolded and cuffed again, this time with my hands in front of me, and again guided through corridors I can't see. The trip is just as long as the one to the interrogation room, full of turns I assume are to keep me confused about the true location of anything in their base. I can't help but be surprised at the _gentleness_ with which they guide me. One would assume they wouldn't care about the comfort of the man who wiped out an entire system just hours ago. Perhaps they are intentionally going out of their way to be unlike the First Order’s ruthless efficiency. The thought has me fighting a smirk; how droll.

In the end I am brought to a halt and the blindfold is removed once more. In front of me is Ren submerged in a bacta tank. He already looks significantly better than he did when I first dragged him onto the shuttle. No longer is he soaked in his own blood, the slash across his face sealed and the angry red of a fresh scar though the gaping hole in his side is still a mess of coagulated blood and lymph. At least I don’t feel as though I could see through him anymore.

This time I can't help my smirk. Ren looks absolutely ridiculous floating in the tank. The juxtaposition between his frankly ideal build with the fucking _diaper_ those put in the tanks wear might be the funniest thing I've seen in ages. He finally looks like the overgrown toddler I've come to view him as. I can only hope my mirth is taken for fondness by the guards to either side of me.

How should one act upon seeing their loved one so injured? Certainly not with laughter like what threatens to overwhelm me. I am also definitively not the type to break down in tears over something that has been handled appropriately. Ren is safe, Ren is healing, and I have ensured this. I have done my duty as someone who has confessed to feelings for him. I swallow my amusement, square my shoulders, and nod at the woman from the interrogation room.

“I see his care has been more than adequate. Keep me updated on his status --” I pause briefly, having to remind myself that I am not, in fact, in charge of these soldiers. I add as humbly as I can manage, “Please.”

She _smiles_ at me like I actually deserve her compassion. It's baffling, but I assume it means I'm convincing in my ploy. This might actually work.


	2. some kind of madness

The cell I'm brought to is not at all what I'm expecting. It's _cozy_ , small and sparse but comfortably so. There's no window and the door is heavy durasteel, but that is the extent of the cell-like qualities. The rest if the room looks like something out of a bed and breakfast: a comfortably wide bed with a worn quilt, a small table with a pair of mismatched chairs, and a narrow archway that leads to an equally narrow refresher. I haven't the faintest idea why the Resistance gave me such quarters when by all rights I should be locked in a broom closet, but here I am. 

Of course, I am supposedly involved with General Organa’s son. I feel it's safe to assume that my request to remain with Ren will be granted, given the relative luxury of the room. 

It hits me all at once that I will be sharing this tiny room with that overgrown child for the foreseeable future. I will be sharing a _bed_ with him. It seemed so reasonable at the time to be locked up with him. That would ensure we could keep each other up to date on what precisely we had told our captors about our relationship, but this is not the way I imagined it would happen. This will be less like being held prisoner together and more like moving in with each other.

It's a rather large step in our fake relationship, and I can only imagine how Ren will react. I am rather glad he won't have access to his lightsaber to work out his frustration with as usual. Of course, then that leaves me as the target of his ire. Hopefully I can convince him not to do anything too dramatic. It wouldn't do for him to be seen as an abusive partner.

I have a few days before I have to actively worry about Ren and his inevitable tantrum though. I might as well make use of the last of the relative privacy I'll have for a long while.

Firstly, I covertly check the room for surveillance while I peel off my great coat. I see nothing obvious at first glance, though there's nothing I could do about it if I had. Regardless, I assume everything I do is being recorded somehow. I would have had every inch of this room bugged were I in their position, and the Resistance would not be -- have been as big of a problem for me had they been lead by complete idiots. 

The refresher is no different; nothing obvious. There are two toothbrushes still in their packaging on the edge of the sink and two worn looking but clean towels hung up neatly on the rod next to the shower stall, confirming my assumption that Ren and I will be sharing quarters. At least the utilitarian design of the refresher doesn't remind me of a bed and breakfast like the main room does. 

I strip down the rest of the way to finally wash off the stale sweat and lingering chill left from dragging Ren onto the shuttle. The hot water is blissful. I do nothing more than stand under it, eyes closed, for a very long moment, absolutely exhausted. How long has it been since I last properly slept? I have no way to tell for sure, but I estimate it's been at least eight hours since the destruction of Starkiller and our subsequent capture, and by that point I had already been up for nearly thirty hours. Not the longest I've ever gone without sleep by far, but it certainly explains why I've been increasingly confident in this asinine plan.

This whole situation is absolutely absurd. I half expect it to be a hallucination from my lack of sleep.

I realize there's only one bar of soap. This strikes me as funny; disgusting, but funny. Do regular people in relationships share soap? I wouldn't know. My only experience is with a handful of inconsequential flings and my own hand. I'll have to remember to request a set of toiletries for Ren on his behalf because I am absolutely _not_ going to share that with him. 

I'm loathe to put my clothes back on after my shower, but I like the idea of parading around nude for all of the Resistance to see even less. After all the trouble they've gone to to make me _comfortable_ , one would think there would be clean clothes waiting for me. Alas, there's not, so I shimmy back into my underwear.

***

I wake up automatically after what feels like my usual amount of sleep. There's no time keeping device anywhere in the room I've been given, which is irritating, so I have no way to tell for sure. I suppose it's better than being woken up and immediately brought back to the interrogation room. However, I have absolutely nothing to do until they come to retrieve me but sit and think. 

Now that I've had an adequate amount of sleep, I can properly assess the faults in this plan I've hatched. It is absolutely contingent on both Ren cooperating and the Resistance believing us. Had I had a chance to really think, I probably could have done this on the premise that I was to be killed for my failure with Starkiller. That would have been far more believable than Ren being ordered to kill me because the two of us are involved. 

Seeking asylum because of a star crossed romance with General Organa’s son does have more appeal than seeking asylum because I'm too much of a coward to face retribution for my mistakes, regardless of believability. I suppose this story allows me more credibility in seeing the error of my ways. It just depends on Ren’s cooperation, which I can't guarantee until I talk to him.

What am I even going to say to _him_ about this? ‘Sorry Ren, I was too bloody tired from dragging your ass off an exploding planet to fight your mum’s henchmen so I told them we were in love so they wouldn't immediately shoot me out an airlock.’ His tantrum would be a sight to behold even without him having his lightsaber at hand. No doubt he would choke the life from me with his stupid brain before I even finished. This is definitely not the most strategically sound plan I have ever come up with.

I suppose it is expected that I'll have to directly fill him in since I was so insistent on him not knowing I was doing this. The Resistance just isn't aware that _this_ also includes our relationship. Informing Ren of that part of the plan could be as simple as kissing him, the thought of which is absolutely hilarious on it's own. It's hard to imagine Ren being romantically involved, despite him being rather attractive. He's so volatile; a relationship with him would be an absolute nightmare.

Which is exactly what I've landed myself in.

The door opens not long after I sit up to admit a guard with a tray full of food.

“It's polite to knock,” I say shortly, as though it wasn't just made obvious that my every move is being watched. They say nothing, leaving me to stare after them clad in only my underwear and a blanket with my hair in disarray. 

The intrusion is made up for by the fact that there is a cup of hot caf sitting on the tray.

By the time I'm retrieved for further interrogation, I'm as put together as I can manage while wearing days old clothes. The caf helped tremendously, a simple luxury I am entirely grateful for. Its inclusion on my breakfast tray does have me continuing to question the Resistance’s motive. Combined with the _room_ I've been give instead of a cell, it would almost seem as if I were a guest of theirs instead of a prisoner.

The first thing I do when the man from yesterday enters the interrogation room is ask him about it.

“Well,” he says slowly, as if he has to filter what he says, “you were right. You're the highest ranking member of the First Order we've had a chance to talk to, and you're seeking asylum, are you not?”

“I wasn’t expecting to actually get it. I didn't exactly pack for the trip.”

That earns a slight smile from him. “We have a lot to gain from your cooperation.” 

He asks me all the same questions as yesterday, going over it again to try and catch me in a lie. He can't -- apart from the nature of mine and Ren’s relationship, everything I've told them so far has been true. It's all inconsequential things, like the stormtrooper training process and if we have another superweapon like Starkiller prepared. I assume they'll start asking more pertinent questions about supply lines and command structure after they think they've gained my trust, since I'm _cooperating_. 

It's only after we've gone over all the information from yesterday that he asks me something new: “How did you wind up in a relationship with Kylo Ren?”

“We… bicker. It got to the point where I either had to hit him or kiss him. I'm sure you can guess what I chose.” The answer is very nearly true. There had been a couple of instances where we argued without his ridiculous mask in the way where I had been tempted to kiss him to shut him up, but I never acted on it.

“And when was that?”

I pick an arbitrary date: “Six weeks ago.”

“Not a very long relationship then.”

I raise an eyebrow, failing to see how that's important, and say, “I don't do things by half measures. Neither does Ren.”

“I see.” The man's tone is clinical. I frown, unable to tell if he believes me. Again, it's not a lie; I do everything to the utmost best of my ability and Ren is… passionate. I don't see why a relationship would have us acting any different. Then he catches me completely off guard by asking, “What's your favourite thing about him?”

I stare at him for a long moment, mouth agape, before I snap, “What is this, a soap opera?”

He just shrugs. The woman standing guard by the door, the same one as yesterday, is trying very hard not to smile. She's not succeeding in the least. I can't believe this is a serious question of theirs.

“Ren is… admirable. He's very capable in the field and a strong leader.”

“Is that all?” This time there is a definitive undercurrent of disbelief.

“What do you want me to say?” I snap, narrowing my eyes. I can feel myself start to flush. “He is as attractive as he is irritating and he's insolent and stubborn, but he's also a brilliant field strategist and an incredible warrior, and he's one of the few people I've met who has proven themselves capable of keeping up with me.”

The woman isn't bothering to hide her grin anymore while the man simply nods in acknowledgement. Heat still tingles in my cheeks. I suppose in this situation an embarrassed flush is to be desired, lending credibility to my story. Goodness knows I couldn't manage to fake a vapid, starstruck look from thinking of Ren. Defensive embarrassment will have to do.

“How is he?” I ask while we're on the subject of Ren, leaning forward slightly like I'm eager.

“He'll be pulled from the tank tomorrow.”

I nod, “Good. I would like to be there when the sedation wears off. Ren is known for his… short temper. I doubt he will respond well to learning that he is in the custody of the Resistance.”

“And you believe you'll be able to talk him down?”

I lean back and shrug. “I doubt there's anything that could be said that would completely mitigate his anger, but perhaps knowing we're here on relatively good terms because of my actions will --” keep him from throwing a complete murderous shitfit “-- have him see reason.”

“I see. I'll relay your concerns to our General.”

With that, they wrap up today's questioning. I'm brought back to my -- _our_ , mine and Ren’s _room_ , and left even more baffled than before. I hadn't expected a line of questioning directly from a romcom holo. _What's my favourite thing about Ren?_ Really, what have they to gain from _that_ information? Childish twitterings of lovestruck fools have no place in an interrogation room.

There's a tray of food waiting for me in the room, still hot. Even better, there's a short stack of neatly folded clothing sitting on the table next to it.

***

The third day of questioning is much like the second: we go over previously stated information before moving on to new intel. This time there are new questions about the workings of the First Order instead of them focusing solely on my supposed relationship with Ren -- base locations, attack plans, command hierarchy, questions shot at me rapid fire. It finally feels like a real interrogation instead of a game of get to know you. 

I answer most of their questions cryptically, never giving them everything they want to know, but I do answer them with the truth. I won't gain their trust if I lie too much. The relationship with Ren is as far as I want to push it at this point. They seem to take my half answers without complaint, the man asking me questions doing so calmly no matter what I say. I can only imagine what's going on in the room where I assume the higher ups are watching the holo feed.

I hate that I am cooperating. The Resistance is everything the First Order is not: chaotic and idealistic and... _soft_. My cooperation has them better able to break down the well oiled machine I've spent my life working to perfect and it is _frustrating_ , but I am no fool. Even had I managed to best the dozen or so Resistance soldiers who boarded my shuttle, escaping the freighter that had captured my shuttle on my own would have been nigh impossible. Escaping with an unconscious Ren would have been miraculous. Even then, being disposed of for my failure with Starkiller would have been just as likely to happen as it is not. No, cooperating with the Resistance gives me the best odds for continued survival.

Knowing that doesn't make me dislike it any less.

Then, as before, I'm asked about my relationship with Ren, an irritatingly vague, “What is your relationship with Kylo Ren like?”

“I fail to see how that's relevant.”

“Forgive me, but it's a little hard to believe either of you are involved with someone, let alone each other. We're all curious how it works.”

“I'll have you know it's all very sweet,” I tell him dryly, “We hold hands and cuddle and sometimes I'll even braid his hair!”

My sarcasm has my guard stifling a laugh and my interrogator raising an eyebrow. I bristle at his implied _Really?_ and flush.

“It's been six weeks of stolen moments in between our regular duties. There's really not much to describe.”

I know something awful is about to happen when my guard's face splits into a wicked grin. She says, “I thought neither of you ‘did things by half measures’.”

“ _Anka_ ,” the man hisses what I assume is her name, turning to frown at her. She puts on a classic look of innocence, lips pinched together to keep from smiling. I'm caught between horror and amusement over her good natured teasing. Horror wins out when I fully process what she's insinuating.

“Do I get to be there when Ren wakes up?” I ask, clumsily changing the subject, my face on fire. Whether or not Ren and I have had imaginary sex during the course of our imaginary relationship is most definitely not a conversation I want to have.

“Yes,” the man says simply before launching back into questions about the inner workings of the First Order.

***

It takes ages for Ren to wake up. He goes from still as death, to eyes flickering behind pale eyelids, to ever so slowly blinking back to consciousness. All I have to do as I sit handcuffed at his side is watch him, so I do, taking in the way his lips part as his eyes focus. Eventually, he sweeps his gaze from the far wall over to my direction.

“Oh,” is all he says, sounding thoroughly dazed. I can't decide if I think the lingering effects of the sedation will help or hinder me relaying my plan to him. On one hand, he's far more likely to be cooperative like this, but on the other he may end up thinking this whole thing is a hallucination. I still haven't figured out what I should say to him.

Ren lifts his hands only to be stopped short by the cuffs chaining him to the bed. He fixes me with a sour look, lips twisted into a childish scowl, and snaps, “What is this for?”

“I surrendered us to the Resistance,” I tell him, lifting my chin defensively.

“You what?” Even with him stoned out of his mind, the air in the room changes subtly with the charge of the Force.

“It seemed preferable to you killing me by order of our _Supreme Leader_.”

With that he… deflates, the tension that had built in him bleeding out suddenly as his shoulders droop and his eyes slide away from mine. To say that I'm surprised is an understatement; this is not at all how I expected him to react and I struggle to not show it on my face. To make matters worse, he starts _crying_ , a single tear slipping down his cheek, quickly followed by another and another as his face twists up.

“Stop that,” I scold, lurching forward, “Don't you dare.”

I'm rather glad for the handcuffs as I try to comfort Ren, the oversized blubbering manchild that he is. They're a reasonable excuse for why I'm not particularly effective, patting him awkwardly on one shoulder with both hands. The cuffs binding him clatter as he jerks against them, trying to brush me away I assume. His glare is just as effective as the gesture with how his eyes are red rimmed and watery, in the sense that it’s really _not_.

“Fuck you,” he croaks, “it's the bacta.”

We glare at each other for a moment before I lean in and swiftly peck him on the lips. I'm acutely aware of us being watched and can only hope the way Ren freezes for an instant is read in a positive light.

“Oh,” Ren whispers again as I pull away before he arches up to kiss me back. Well, that's helpful, far more so than any reaction I anticipated. We part a little more slowly this time, lingering like true lovers. This is absolutely not going how I expected it to. At least it's going better than I anticipated. Ren kissing me back, as baffling as it is, is far more favourable than him Force choking me.

And if he looks a little sad when I do finally pull away and stand up straight, well, I'm sure it's just a byproduct of being a touch starved maniac. Who knows when the last time someone touched him nicely was.

I take pity on him and wipe the wet trails of tears off his face with my fingers, frowning when his eyes well up again.

“Stop that,” I tell him again, feeling as though I'm scolding a child, “Everything's fine. You're fine, I'm fine, everything's _fine_ so stop your crying.”

“It's the bacta,” he insists, scowling.

“I know,” I say, and I do. Coming down off the high from being submerged in the tank often feels worse than the original injury that lands one there. Then, quietly, I tell him, “I don't like seeing you so upset.”

It's not a lie. Seeing the great Kylo Ren, master of the Knights of Ren and skilled user of the Force, in tears is disconcerting, to say the least. It also seems like an appropriate thing to say to a loved one in this situation, though Ren can't quite hide his momentary look of surprise. 

Ren looks over to the open door, where a handful of Resistance guards stand. and demands, “Uncuff us.”

The three of them exchanged worried looks. I wonder which they find more intimidating, Ren or his mother?

“I don't need my hands to kill you,” Ren says darkly. I can't help but roll my eyes.

“Don't be rude,” I tell him, “The Resistance has been plenty generous already.”

He turns to me and _pouts_ ; “I can't hold you if I'm chained down.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” I snap, flustered, and tuck one of my hands into his. While I am pleased that Ren has caught on so quickly -- the reason I've always tolerated his tantrums is because he is in fact quite brilliant -- I can't say I'm comfortable being on the receiving end of this much affection. It's also infinitely frustrating to realize that I may end up being the reason this plan of mine fails after all. Ren has already proven himself to be the better actor out of the two of us, even with the lingering effects of sedation.

He returns to glaring at our guards, daring them to defy him. One slips out, I assume to get permission, after a brief hushed argument. The woman who has been guarding me seems less worried than the other two, at least. Ren and I must be convincing.

The third one comes back far faster than I expected and hesitantly comes up to Ren to unlock his cuffs. Ren refuses to let go of my hand so I can move out of the way when the guard gets to the side I'm on, not even when I shoot him a dirty look.

“I didn't think I'd get to see you again,” he mumbles sheepishly, _sincerely_ , refusing to meet my gaze. I have to fight to not roll my eyes again. He's laying it on rather thick, being far more disgustingly saccharine than is truly necessary.

When my cuffs have been undone, Ren tugs at my hand, motioning for me to get on the bed with him. I cannot believe he actually means to _cuddle me_ in front of an audience. He frowns when I resist.

“There's not enough room for both of us, Kylo” I tell him sternly, despite my flush, “We are not small men.”

He just stares at me, eyes narrowed but twinkling with amusement, until I give in. Exasperated, I sigh, “Fine, you brat, where do you want me?”

Ren scoots back gingerly, cautious of pulling at a wound that's no longer there, until he's sitting up fully. Then he motions to the space between his legs. Somehow I can feel myself flush darker.

Why has the Resistance not put a stop to this? Allowing us the time to _cuddle_ serves no practical purpose other than to put on a show. Ren has been successfully pacified and no longer poses an immediate threat. I should have been led back to our rooms already, where any necessary _cuddling_ can take place without direct supervision. _The handcuffs should have never come off._ Instead, I'm awkwardly climbing onto a narrow med bay bed barely able to fit Ren by himself, situating myself between his thighs. Ren immediately wraps his long arms around my waist and tucks his face against my neck.

“You are far too tense, General,” Ren says, his voice low and teasing. I bristle at the use of my rank as an endearment, but far worse is the true meaning behind his words: _you are not convincing_.

“Forgive me for preferring to keep private matters _private_.” I very pointedly ignore the guards on the other side of the room.

“If it helps, they're just as embarrassed as you.”

“I'm not surprised. Making people uncomfortable is something you excel at.”

I can feel Ren’s smile against the back of my shoulder when he says, “Thank you.”

There's a long moment of silence where I will myself to relax. At least Ren is attractive, tall and well built with an appealing, if unusual, face. Kissing him was pleasant and being held by him… I'm hesitant to use the word _nice_ , given the situation and my discomfort with being touched, but it's not bad. I'm acutely aware of how much larger than me he is, taller and broader in the shoulders and generally more heavily muscled. He is, objectively, rather terrifying, but here he is, wrapped around me like a tentacle monster.

This humanizes him, I realize. He spends -- spent all his time striding around in that ghastly mask of his, making himself out to be an untouchable monster. Even I thought of him as more monster than man, despite being one of the few to see his human face. This behaviour of his -- the demand for affection, the gentleness with which he holds me -- is so at odds with how he's always presented himself it's almost frightening in its own way. It must be truly horrifying for the Resistance for us, two heads of the hydra that makes up their enemy, acting so _tender_.

“My mother is outside,” Ren says softly, his arms squeezing me around my middle as he hunches up slightly with tension. I do not envy him. General Organa is formidable.

“So you're using me as some sort of security blanket, then?” I tease.

Ren snorts, “She'll have to go through you to get to me.”

“Thank you, I'm so glad to be of service.”

I freeze when I feel him start to shake behind me. It takes me a moment to realize he's _laughing_. He does that for a long moment, just quietly shuddering and huffing against my back.

“Are you quite done?” I ask shortly. He just tucks his face against my neck. I can feel his grin. It is extremely uncomfortable, knowing that expression is on his face. He’s The Kylo Ren, he shouldn’t be grinning, not when I’ve delivered us to the Resistance, to his _mother_ when he has freshly committed patricide. 

Slowly his grin fades, but he keeps his face where it is. I get the feeling he’s breathing me in, or at least putting on a show like he is, like he can’t believe I’m here with him, like he doesn’t know when the next time he’ll see me will be, like he _loves me_. He is a far better actor than I.

Then he tenses.

“You have to leave now,” Ren says a half moment before a guard does. Ren doesn't release me even when I go to move. Instead he squeezes me tighter and mumbles, “I don't know when I'll get to see you next.” 

“It won't be long, Kylo. I've arranged for us to be… roomed together.”

His grip on me relaxes, his hands sliding down my stomach, before he pulls me back closer than before.

“Good,” he says. I half expect him to add some dark threat but that's all he says. I give him a moment longer before I go to move away again and this time he lets me, his hands trailing around my body as we part. 

Once I'm standing, I take his hand in mine and lean in to kiss him again. He meets me halfway and out does me by cupping my cheek with his free hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright theres chapter two. im aiming to have the last chapter done by the end of the year which should be plenty of time if i can actually manage writing since i shat out the first two chapters in like a month and chapter three is almost entirely shmoop and porn, which i excel at. anyway if i dont manage to get ch 3 done by the last jedi i probably wont ever, but ill at least post the outline and what all i have written so yall get some closure. if yall want to come cheerlead me and keep updated with my writing process, feel free to follow me at sumomomochi.tumblr.com where the tag for this fic is #fake space boyfriends


	3. throw it all away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aha i did it, with two months to spare im so proud. have some porn, the real point of this fic

The morning of Ren’s medical release starts off _beautifully_ when _General Fucking Organa herself_ follows my usual interrogator into the room. I swear the temperature of the room drops substantially. I have to fight shivers at the look she gives me. Never before have I faced someone regarding me so coldly, and that includes not living up to my dear father’s high expectations. There were always rumours in the First Order that Organa was a powerful Force user in her own right -- she would almost have to be, given Ren -- but meeting her in the flesh leaves no doubt in my mind. She is absolutely where Ren gets all his power from, not his uncle or his grandfather.

Anka takes her place by the door, looking very pleased to be here.

“Alright, let’s go over what you’ve already told us,” my usual interrogator says, opening his notes on his datapad.

And go over it we do. Organa’s cold gaze on me the entire time is incredibly stressful, but, much to my amazement, I don’t slip up over anything, not even the bits about mine and Ren’s relationship. I tell them precisely what I’ve told them before, as far as I can recall, no more and no less. After running through everything yet again, my interrogator seems reasonably satisfied. Organa, less so.

I’ve never seen brown eyes so icey.

She leans in slightly, fingers steepled in front of her, and simply observes me for a moment. The cold sweat I’ve been fighting this entire time prickles at the base of my spine. The man at her side sits there serenely. Anka shoots me a grin.

For a moment, I have a horrible feeling she’s going to probe my mind like Ren does when he “interrogates” someone.

Then she starts with her own line of questioning.

I’m still shaken, maybe worse than if she had probed my mind. She manages to pull more information from me than I intend to give out. Details from every First Order plan I’ve ever been privy too come pouring out of my mouth unbidden and I know that this is the true power of the Force.

And then she asks me about Ren and it’s worse because my lies keep slipping away from my tongue. I manage to hold on, but only just -- after all, most of what I’ve told them has been the truth, or some form of it, so there’s only so much I have to force through my teeth. She runs me through how we met, what sparked the argument that made me kiss him, what I like about him, all of it.

I thank every deity I can think of that I had the foresight to date the start of our relationship as very recently.

“You don’t love him,” Organa says after a moment of consideration.

“Of course not,” I balk, “I’m not even sure if I like him, but I imagine, under the right circumstances, I _could_ love him. Either way, Snoke wants me dead.”

That seems to satisfy her more than anything else I’ve told her today.

***

My blank stupor is broken by the door opening. Ren is gestured in by one of a dozen heavily armed guards and the door is swiftly shut behind him.

“Well,” he says, looking around. I’m sure I can guess at what he’s thinking -- close, _intimate_ quarters shared with a man he mostly raged at, how wonderful. What a great plan that I, a master strategist, have come up with.

I stand, smooth out the front of my shirt, and clear my throat before asking, “Would you like to join me in the shower?”

He stares at me like I’ve grown a second head for a long moment. At first I think he’s going to say no, but he surprises me by saying, “Sure,” so casually even I am almost fooled into thinking we’ve done this before.

I have a plan, I remind myself. This is a valuable, _stealthy_ way of sharing intelligence without having my mind probed by Ren and his… _indelicate_ ways. I’ll be able to relay to Ren the details of what I’ve done so he knows what to say should he be questioned and we’ll further cement our status as _in a relationship_ all in one fell swoop. Two birds, one stone.

The fact that we’ll both be naked is besides the point.

Ren follows me to the refresher far closer than I anticipated. He goes so far as to place his hand on the back of my waist as I step through the doorway and as much as I try not too, I still flinch. Ren, the asshole, huffs a quiet laugh. When I turn to face him in the small room, he doesn’t take his hand away. It slides around my body as I move and then he’s _in my space_ , chest to chest with me, his face tilted down expectantly. I just stare at him, eyes narrowed in defiance.

“Are you camera shy, General?” he asks, mocking me. I frown and he swoops down to peck me on the lips before finally stepping away.

He’s wearing simple grey scrubs, same as the last time I saw him, instead of his usual multi layered ghastly affair. It takes him no time at all to strip down. He’s not even wearing _underwear_ under the scrubs.

There’s a huge knot of scar tissue from the Wookie’s blaster on his side, still angry pink like the lightsaber slash across his face, and an assortment of lighter, older scars crisscrossing his torso and more of those freckles. He stands there unashamed as I fail at not staring. He is _quite_ attractive.

“Your turn,” he says after I’ve had a good long look at him. My cheeks heat up. At least he sounds amused. I am really not. How am I embarrassed? _I knew this was going to happen_. 

I’m a little angrier than I should be when I peel away my clothing, hesitating just slightly before shucking my underwear. When I’m done, I stand with my hands spread, held out from my sides just enough to say _there_. Ren looks like he’s about to rupture an organ with how hard he’s trying not to laugh.

“Just get in the stall, idiot,” I snap, face hot. He does laugh at that, a full blown belly laugh, head thrown back. I glare at him as he steps by me, my lips pinched in a scowl. It is entirely unfair how he has _dimples_ when he smiles like that .

Ren is kind enough to stand in the corner of the little shower stall, giving me plenty of room to step in with him and his tremendous bulk. I do, closing the door tightly after me, and turn on the water. Once it’s spraying over us, I reach up and wrap my arms around Ren’s neck, pulling him towards me so I can tuck my face against his.

“ _I hate you_ ,” I hiss in his ear once he’s close enough to do so. Ren laughs again. I can feel it vibrate in my chest and it is _awful_. “If it weren’t for you, _I wouldn’t be in this mess_.”

I can hear the mirth in Ren’s voice when he says, “I sincerely doubt it was your idea to retrieve me before leaving Starkiller, _General_.”

I pause. This is true. It was at the _request_ of the Supreme Leader that I scurried off to find Ren before Starkiller imploded. The blame can be set fully on him. 

Still, I am at least partly at fault. I _could_ have defied orders and fled Starkiller with the rest of my officers. It’s not like I would have had a very good chance of surviving Snoke’s ire either way.

Somehow, _somehow_ , being captured by the Resistance and the stupid plan I came up with is working out the best out of all scenarios I can think of. It’s _fucking baffling_. I sigh.

Might as well do what I dragged Ren in here for.

“As I’m sure you have figured out, I’ve told the Resistance that we’re in a relationship. I gave us up willingly after they captured our ship leaving Starkiller under the premise that we were not returning to Snoke because you had been ordered to kill me because of your attachments.”

Ren shivers briefly. I assume it’s because of how I’m breathing on the wet, sensitive skin just below his ear. Force knows it tickled when he spoke in mine.

“What in the ‘verse possessed you to come up with this lie?”

I shrug. “It’s working. We’re alive.”

“I’d rather be dead.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. Does he always have to be so dramatic?

“Well too bad. We’re here now so we might as well make the best of our situation.”

“You’ve never met my mother.”

“Ah. Actually, I have.”

Ren pulls away just enough to stare disbelievingly at me. I smirk, even if my meeting with General Organa did not go quite as well as I would have hoped. He sighs and tucks his face back next to mine.

“Alright, what are the details of our relationship, _dear_.”

I recap the mercifully short list of things I’ve told the Resistance about my relationship with Ren. Much to my surprise, he doesn’t complain about a single thing; he just nods in appropriate places and seems to be memorizing the information.

“There’s something you’re going to have to tell me if you want this to work,” he says once I’m done.

“And what’s that?”

I can feel his cheek move as he grins, the asshole. “Your given name, General.”

I grimace. Of course I knew it was inevitable. He can’t keep calling me “Hux” or “General” without arousing suspicion. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.

“Armitage,” I tell him briskly.

He snorts, “What the fuck kind of name is that?”

“Fuck you, _Ky-lo_.”

Ren just laughs louder, somehow managing to sound fond. I continue to be amazed at his acting skills.

***

_Sleeping_ poses a problem. It’s not that the bed isn’t big enough; it is, for an actual couple. One that doesn’t involve Ren’s impossibly wide shoulders, that is. Fitting both of us on the bed without anything touching is going to be impossible.

Ren has stripped off his shirt and is half under the covers on the side closest to the wall. He’s trying to convince me to take off my clothes.

“You don’t have to be shy, General,” he says, I’m sure trying for soothing and only managing amused. I can’t help bristling like a cat.

“Don’t _call_ me that,” I snap, irritated at how good his acting is, irritated at him using my rank as a pet name, irritated because I’m not that anymore; not a General, just a defector and a prisoner of war.

“Hux -- Armitage.” He sounds placating and _soft_ and it puts me on edge. I yank my shirt off, flushed and frustrated. My trousers soon follow. I’d give anything for a set of pyjamas. I’d give anything to be simply locked in a cell far, far away from this man.

Begrudgingly, I lay down next to Ren and pull the covers up over my chest. They’re already warm from the heat he radiates. Great. At least I won’t be cold during this misadventure.

“You know, whoever’s watching the holo feed is probably paying more attention to whatever they’re watching on another screen,” Ren tells me, “Unless we create a ruckus, we’re not interesting.”

“How can you be so sure?” I ask flatly. Watching things other than what they were supposed to is strictly forbidden in the First Order, and I enforced that rule.

Ren shrugs. “I grew up here. I know most of the older Resistance members. They’d rather watch a grav-ball game than prisoners sitting around doing nothing. We’re probably being listened to as well, but at least no one’s paying attention to your bare, pasty ass.”

“What a relief,” I deadpan. Ren nudges me with one fist.

“I’m trying to comfort you, you asshole.”

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job of it.”

“Fuck you too, at least I’m _trying_.”

I hear: _At least I’m trying to be believable_ , and wince. Ren is doing a far superior job of being in this supposed relationship. I’m going to fuck this up. _I’m_ going to fuck it up, not him, and it was my stupid idea in the first place.

Fuck.

***

Sleeping _definitely_ poses a problem. Ren and I lie in silence next to each other for _eons_ before either of us drift off. I don’t sleep well to begin with and sleeping next to someone apparently only serves to make that little fact about me so much worse.

And then, _and then_ , seemingly as soon as I’ve properly fallen asleep, I wake up because _fucking Ren_ has stolen all the covers and I’m left to the mercy of the cool room.

Ren has his back to me, his bare spine showing under the very edge of the blanket as he practically spoons the body of it. I grab hold of the blanket and yank, hard, ripping it from him and cocooning myself in it in one smooth motion.

“The fuck, Hux,” Ren says blearily. I say nothing, victorious in my blanket cocoon.

My skin raises in goose pimples and that’s all the warning I get before Ren pulls on the blanket in turn. I’m flipped a full one-eighty, the wind knocked out of me.

“You _thief_ ,” I gasp, tugging on the blanket again. Ren’s hold doesn’t falter.

“You stole it from me!”

“You stole it first! Give it back!”

Ren lets his grip slacken just enough for my next tug to send me sprawling off the edge of the bed.

“Fuck!”

Ren sounds sulky when he says, “Asshole.”

“You are _such_ a _child_!” I snap from the floor, elbows and tailbone sore, “If we can’t manage something as simple as _sharing a bed_ , how are we going make this work?”

“You’re the one who stole the blanket,” Ren grumbles, definitely sulking.

“ _You stole it first_!”

“Well, you didn’t have to _yank_ it away from me!”

“How else was I supposed to get it away from you?”

“You could have just _asked_.”

I glare at Ren and he glares right back. We have reached a stalemate and it’s over something as _stupid_ as a _fucking blanket_. Tomorrow, I vow, I will trade First Order secrets for a blanket of my own.

“Fine, you prick, keep the damn blanket,” I snap, laying out as comfortably as I can on the floor, back to the bed, and to Ren.

There’s a long pause before Ren sighs, “Fine, you asshole, get up here before you bruise.”

I spitefully do not move.

“Hux -- Armitage. You’re better than this, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sulking like a child is what _you_ do.”

“Takes one to know one, asshole.”

“Real mature.”

 

“Says the man currently laying on the _floor_ because he doesn’t want to share a blanket.”

I roll over just enough to glare at him over my shoulder.

He sighs again. “Just get up here, okay? I’ll share the stupid blanket.”

There’s a long pause before he goes, in a small voice, “Please?”

Fuck, now I _have_ to. Begrudgingly, I drag myself up. Curse Ren and curse his damned ability to play out this farce better than I could ever hope to.

Once I’m on the bed again, Ren spreads out the blanket over me.

And then _he_ spreads out over me, arm thrown across my stomach and _leg_ overlapping my own.

It’s not comfortable _at all_.

“What’s with that face?” he asks, softly due to proximity.

“What face?”

He props himself up on one elbow to squint at me in the dark, big hand splayed on my chest. “The one you’re making.”

I pinch my lips together, absolutely not making a face. Instead of answering him, I roll over, away from him, onto my side. He follows, keeping his chest pressed against me and his arm wrapped around my stomach. His stupid leg falls away though, so I consider the action at least a partial success.

Except now Ren’s nose is against the back of my neck and every exhale _tickles_. On the third one, I jerk away. I don’t get far; Ren’s arm around me keeps me close. He groans wordlessly, frustrated, and I snap, “Your breathing tickles.”

“Well, I can’t exactly stop, so shut up and deal,” he snaps back.

“It’s going to keep me awake, so move.”

Ren scoffs, “What, and let you take all the blanket again?”

“I wasn’t the one who took it all in the first place!”

He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “This again,” before saying, “You’re such an asshole.”

I wiggle around in a completely undignified manner until I’m facing Ren, our noses almost brushing with how close we are.

“I’m the asshole? Excuse me, but who saved your life?”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not also an asshole,” Ren says shortly, his irritation obvious.

“Yeah, well, you’re insufferable,” I grouse back, entirely done with this whole conversation.

Ren goes to argue, or maybe call me an asshole again, so I close the distance between us and just kiss him. It is beautifully effective in shutting him up. He freezes momentarily then positively melts.

Kissing Ren is nice, so I do it again, pressing my lips against his harder this time. He brings one of his big hands up to rest on my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek and fingers curling around the back of my neck. Wickedly, I take things a step further, opening my mouth to suck on one of his lips. He mimics me, his lips parting, and it’s so easy to probe his mouth with my tongue. He groans as I lick his teeth, a full bodied, impossibly arousing noise. I have to pull back before Ren’s responsiveness causes… issues.

Ren is flushed pink and nearly cross eyed, and I smirk with my success in getting the last word. I roll over ~~so I don’t kiss him again~~ so I don’t have to deal with him breathing on my face.

“You’re still an asshole,” Ren mumbles, but he tucks a corner of the blanket between his face and my neck.

***

I wake up very warm and with a very tenacious erection jabbing me in the tailbone. It’s a novel experience -- usually, on the rare occasion I involve myself with someone, I kick them out after the deed is done. I’m tempted to grind back against Ren, to startle him awake and hear more of his delicious groaning, but I am not sure I want to cross that line. Kissing is one thing -- it’s to show the Resistance that we are, in fact, involved -- but actually having sex is unwarranted, in my opinion. No one needs to see the awkward fumblings of a touched starved wannabe Sith, myself included.

Still, I shift and Ren mumbles something into the back of my neck. It doesn’t sound like words

“Good morning to you too, Ren,” I say shortly, “You’re stabbing me in the back.”

His hips twitch forward -- unconsciously I hope -- and he replies, “Do something about it then.”

Not unconsciously, apparently. I scowl at his words, my own embarrassed flush, and the stirrings deep in my gut.

“Do you really want me to jerk you off in front of the entire Resistance?” I ask.

He pinwheels back, smacking one elbow against the wall in his haste to get away. That is not at all the response I was expecting.

I roll over to look at him, preparing to say something biting and sarcastic. The words die on my tongue as I take in how red he’s turned, my eyebrows raising in surprise. He’s flushed from mid chest all the way to his hairline.

“That -- that's not what I meant,” he stammers. He's completely avoiding eye contact. I’ve never seen a grown man more awkward and it is the funniest thing I have ever seen.

Then things click into place and I can't help but grin wickedly.

“Have you never had sex before?” I ask, my voice pitched low to hopefully keep our Resistance watchdogs from listening in. Ren gives me no answer, looking mortified. He _hasn’t_. Kylo Ren is a _virgin_. I laugh and he gives me a sour look.

“Asshole,” he grouses. I can’t take offense because he's still blushing like a schoolgirl, an innocent _virgin_.

I feel like I should be surprised, but I'm really not. While Ren is attractive and apparently no less virile than a normal man, I’ve always heard that Jedi eschew attachments and Snoke surely kept Ren too busy with _training_ for him to attend to base needs. Then, of course, he was with me overseeing Starkiller, or out galavanting through space on his quest to find his uncle, and I doubt he would proposition Stormtroopers or any of my officers.

The time for me to reply and soothe his ruffled feathers is quickly passing though I have no idea how to respond with anything but laughter. He does look like he's about to call me an asshole again, so I simply kiss him. 

“I don't mind,” I tell him, just in case the Resistance is paying attention, still so close our lips brush as I speak, “I thought that might be the case.”

“You're still an asshole,” he says shortly. I just kiss him again.

***

There's a long stretch of time where we do precisely nothing. I hesitate to divvy it up into _days_ since there's no way for me to tell the time but for my own internal clock. There doesn't seem to be any set schedule for when they bring us our meals -- they bring us meals shortly after we wake up, then again eons later, and then again even later on. Time stretches like taffy with nothing to structure my days. Even interrogation would be a welcome reprieve. At least it would be something to do. 

Ren passes the time by making the chairs levitate.

Eventually he progresses from simply levitating the chairs to taking them apart with his mind, screw by screw.

“Stop that,” I scold. Everything clatters to the ground. The chair, which had been holding its shape under the power of the Force, falls apart with a loud clatter. I roll my eyes. “Thank you so much for ruining one of the only things in this room.”

“I can put it back together,” he tells me, petulant like a child.

“Then do so.”

It takes him a hilariously long time. He has to hunt for screws that have scattered to the far corners of the room and none of the chair’s pieces fit together right on his first go. Of course, he's doing all this with the Force, like he's showing off, instead of just puzzling it together with his hands like a normal sentient being. It's something to do, at least.

It's also very amusing.

Once the chair is in one piece again I tell him, “That's your chair now. If it breaks apart thanks to your fussing, it's not going to be under me.”

Ren just scowls at me and throws himself bodily into the chair.

***

I would have thought that Ren would spend the empty hours we’re left in limbo meditating, but he doesn't.

He's gone back to levitating the chairs, sitting cross legged on the floor, staring at them like they're the most interesting thing in the universe. 

Maybe he is meditating. He's been sitting there doing nothing but watching the bobbing chairs for ages. Maybe the chairs are acting like some sort of focal point. What do I know of Force users and their strange practices? They're nothing if not mysterious. 

While Ren is seemingly entertained, I am most definitely not. I’ve been lying on the bed, doing nothing but staring at the ceiling, for a very long time now. We sleep, we eat, we stare off into space. I estimate it's been three or four days of nothing. It's torture. I would absolutely give up First Order secrets for something, anything, to do.

I'm jolted from my stupor by one of the chairs slamming into the wall. It's metal so it doesn't do much besides bounce, though I'm still glad to see that it's the chair I’ve designated as Ren’s. 

I'm less pleased to see the other chair following suit, and then the table.

“ do you think you're doing?” I hiss, “Why the ever loving _fuck_ are you suddenly so hell bent on destroying all we have?”

“I'm _bored_ ,” he snaps, then he raises his voice to a roar. “Give us something to do!”

“Shut up and right the stupid table. A tantrum isn't going to get you anywhere.”

“It might,” he says, believing it.

“No, it won't. These aren't civilians you can intimidate into doing your bidding. They are a formidable military organization familiar with Force users. They aren't afraid of you, Kylo. All you're doing by throwing a tantrum is breaking our furniture and irritating me, so stop.”

Ren doesn't reply. His shoulders droop slightly, just enough to tell me that he's sulking. I sigh.

There's just enough room between his back and the bed for me to squeeze in, legs bracketing his. I wrap my arms around his middle and rest my cheek against the back of his shoulder. This sort of thing does not come naturally to me. It's awkward and uncomfortable. The floor is hard, the frame of the bed digs into my spine. It's made slightly less awful when Ren’s hands come up to cover my own, silently telling me that I have made a good choice in giving him physical affection. If the Resistance is watching, and there's no doubt in my mind that they are after Ren’s tantrum, they’ll only see me comforting my partner. I shift just enough to rest my chin on his shoulder, my face tilted in towards his ear.

“If you want something to do, you’ll have to trade Snoke’s secrets,” I tell him, getting a mouthful of hair for my trouble.

Ren squeezes my wrists gently, an acknowledgement, then says,”I know.”

“I'm sure I could come up with something to entertain us if you're so bored.”

My words elicit precisely the response I want from Ren. He shivers deliciously. I can even see his ear turn red where it pokes out from his hair. I may not want to actually have sex with Ren, but teasing him is most definitely a new favourite pastime. He’s a _virgin_ and it's so easy to fluster him. Most important, though, is that my teasing helps sell my lie.

I'm just glad that Ren is so amicable to this whole situation. It is so much easier with at least one of us finding it tolerable.

I kiss his neck, relishing the way he gasps.

“Right the furniture and meet me in the shower,” I tell him, patting his stomach before I detangle myself from him and stand. I don't look back but I'm barely at the doorway to the refresher before the scrape of metal against the floor tells me Ren is doing as I told him. I'm not even naked before he's behind me. I catch sight of him in the mirror stripping off his shirt and I can't help but smirk at how eager he is. I’m sure most of it is just him putting on a show for the Resistance, but it's still amusing.

Just like our last shower together, as soon as we're both in the stall, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close enough for me to speak softly into his ear. 

“In here we can give the illusion of our… interaction without having eyes on us.”

“Very smart, General,” he says, “There's a problem with your plan though.”

“And what's that?” 

“They can still hear us.”

I frown. “So?”

“You may be able to fake it, but I can’t. I don't know how.”

“Ah.” That is a problem. At least Ren sounds embarrassed about it. 

There's a long pause while I think of what we should do. Then Ren breaks it by saying, “We could… actually do things.”

I pull away enough to glare at him before pressing my face back against his to hiss in his ear, “I'm not fucking you for the Resistance’s benefit.”

“It is the most straightforward solution though.”

“Yes, it is, but to further my stupid plan is a stupid reason to have sex for the first time. I have morals, Ren.”

He laughs, then murmurs, “Do you though?”

“You're an asshole!” I say, slapping his shoulder, as though he didn't also startle a laugh out of me. I feel him grin against my jaw. I kiss his cheek on autopilot, shocking myself with how easy the action is.

“We could kiss,” he says, placating, “Enough to be authentic to the Resistance’s ears without compromising your _morals_.”

I hum, thinking. That could be acceptable. Kissing Ren is nice and he’s already proven that he’ll make the appropriate noises. I nod, saying, “That should be fine.”

Ren wastes no time, pressing his lips against my neck, over my jaw, my cheek, until he finally reaches my mouth. His tongue immediately probes my lips, begging for me to part them. I do, and he licks into my mouth. He's clumsy at it, obviously new to this sort of thing. I find it almost endearing. It is quite a heady thing to know I'm his first partner.

I take control of the kiss, pushing back against Ren. He groans, his hands squeezing my hips, and submits. I suck on his lip and he moans. I nip at it and he trembles.

This is dangerous. Ren is so pliant under my hands. I could do anything to him, I'm sure, and he’d let me. I could drop to my knees and take him in my mouth. I could push him to _his_ knees and then push into his mouth. I could turn him around and press into him, take him and give the Resistance something to hear.

I don't do anything and Ren moans.

“You're thinking _so loud_ ,” he sighs into my mouth, pressing his hips against mine. He’s hard, maybe not fully, but enough. I'm embarrassed to note that so am I.

“We should stop,” I whisper, mortified. Ren groans again, frustrated this time, but pulls away and sets about washing himself with the single bar of soap.

By an unspoken agreement, we wait to exit the shower until our mutual situation has resolved itself. Once we're fit to leave the private confines of the shower, I set about shaving with the electric razor the Resistance has provided. Its results are not as smooth as the straight razor I am accustomed to, but it's serviceable.

I'm halfway done when I notice the small red mark on my neck, the same side Ren had kissed. I touch it gingerly. None of my previous partners left any marks on me, but a short session of kissing with Ren leaves me with a hickey like I'm some hormone-riddled schoolboy.

I didn't even _notice_. How the _hell_ did Ren leave a mark on me without me noticing? ~~What else can that sinful mouth do?~~

***

Finally, _finally_ , after the next time we sleep, I'm retrieved for further interrogation. I’m almost happy to go, to be given something to do besides stare into space and think about nothing. Being pulled away from our room, finally, gives me a chance to barter for something to do in our empty hours.

Anka and my usual interrogator are already there when I'm sat down and the ever present blindfold is removed. He's smiling serenely. 

“I heard you had an eventful day yesterday,” he says. My hand immediately goes to cover the mark Ren left on me where it peeks out over the collar of my shirt. I flush.

“I suppose you could say that.”

Anka shakes with silent giggles.

“What prompted Kylo Ren’s outburst?”

“He’s bored, apparently. I am too, to be honest,” I lick my lips, hesitating only briefly, “What would it take to have a datapad?”

“What are you willing to give us?”

***

Ren’s still there when I'm returned to our room. He's laying on the bed, reading something on the datapad I have apparently managed to secure. There's a second one on the table, along with a stack of datacards.

“Romance novels mostly,” Ren says, “but it's something. Good job, General.”

“You're very welcome. Hopefully this helps alleviate your disastrous boredom.”

“I won't destroy anything else,” he smirks at me over the top edge of his datapad, “That is, until we run out of datacards.”

I sigh, “I told you, you're not going to intimidate the Resistance into doing what you want.”

“I know, I know. I have to trade secrets if I want anything.” Ren sets his datapad down and pulls something out from between him and the wall. 

“A chess board!”

Ren grins, triumphant. “I tried to get a dejarik board, since I'm better at it, but I guess we haven't earned the right to anything holographic yet.”

I’m so pleased with what Ren has managed that I could kiss him. This is why we work so well together, despite his tantrums. He's very good at fleshing out my plans, building them up into something even better than I could imagine on my own. I could kiss him. I should kiss him.

I do, crossing the room in four long strides, bending over to grab his ridiculous face between my hands. He goes along willingly when I pull him up to press my lips against his.

“If I had known all it’d take to get you to like me was a game of chess, I would have offered to play you a lot sooner,” he says after I pull away, a little breathless. I huff a laugh and kiss him again.

***

As soon as I move to get out of bed, one of Ren’s big hands presses me back down. 

“Why do you have to get up so early?” he grouses, face first in the pillow.

“How do you know it's early?” I ask. There's no clock in the room. I have no idea what time it is, I just know that I’ve slept enough, thus it's time to get up.

“I just do,” Ren answers, “Go back to sleep.”

“I'm not tired anymore.”

Ren just wraps around me, arm across my stomach and leg across my thighs. He says, “Try. If you get up, then I have to get up, and I don't want to.”

I sigh, “Fine,” and shift until I'm comfortable under his weight.

I’ve grown used to the way Ren _cuddles_ , touching me constantly when we're in bed like he thinks I’ll disappear when he closes his eyes. He touches me a lot no matter what, brushing his knuckles against my shoulder when we sit side by side on the bed reading or reaching over to place his hand on mine while we play chess. I'm still a little frustrated that Ren is so much better at acting out this fake relationship, but slowly I'm getting better at it myself by taking queues from him.

At the very least, I no longer flinch when he touches me unexpectedly. Mostly. 

Ren kisses my shoulder, propping himself up on one elbow to kiss across my collarbone, then up my neck until he reaches my mouth.

“You think so loud,” he murmurs against my lips.

“Do you read all my thoughts, or just the ones about you?” I ask, disgruntled.

He grins and kisses me again. “Just the ones about me. They're the loudest.”

I sigh and it's so easy to kiss him once more, threading my fingers through his curtain of dark hair. It tickles my cheeks where it brushes against me as Ren tilts his head to better capture my lips. He sucks on one, then nips at it, then presses his tongue between my teeth. It's the same sort of thing I've grown used to in our interactions, but it seems so much lazier in the dark, calm and warm and sleepy. I hum into his mouth, a small pleased sound, and Ren moans in return. I can feel the stirrings of his erection against my hip.

“I thought you wanted to continue to sleep,” I tease. He tucks his face against my neck and drags his teeth over my jugular.

“I do,” he says, lips hot and spit slick against my skin, “but kissing you is so much better than sleep.”

I can think of no argument. Kissing Ren _is_ nice, and I'm not tired anyway. However, we are quickly reaching the point where our bodies betray us by engaging in base reactions and, as much as I enjoy kissing Ren, I still don't want to have sex with him.

_You do though_ , comes a whisper at the back of my brain. I am unsure if it's just my cock arguing for sexual contact or if it's Ren trying to convince me with his mind tricks. Fine, I think purposefully, perhaps I do, but not under these circumstances. 

Ren backs off with one last kiss to my neck, settling back against my side with a contented sigh. His hips are still pressed against me but he makes no move for friction against his erection. I applaud his self control; I am unsure that I would be able to do the same.

***

We're eating dinner after a long day of nothing when Ren reaches over with his fork to spear food off _my_ plate. I stare at him with consternation as he pops it into his mouth.

“ _What_ was _that_ for?” I ask, incredulous. Ren just shrugs and continues eating.

Then he does it again. I pull my plate closer to me and shoot him a glare.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” I tell him shortly. He smirks.

“That's not what you were saying the other day.”

I flush, naturally picking up on what he means, despite the fact that I have never encouraged him touching me. I’m sure his words were meant more for the Resistance member watching us, insinuating sexual contact where there's been none.

“You may touch _me_. You may not touch my food. You have your own, _and it is the exact same as mine_.”

“Yours tastes better,” he says simply, using his frustratingly long arms to reach over _and steal more of my food_.

“That makes _no sense_.”

Ren just shrugs again, eyes focused on his food as he eats. I stare at him, trying to figure out just what he's up to, and notice he's gone ever so slightly pink. Is this a thing that people do, casually stealing food off their partner’s plate? It's absurd, especially considering we were served _the same exact thing_. 

This is stupid, I think very purposefully. Ren glances up at me and I make aggressive eye contact as I reach over and help myself to his plate. He stares at me for a long moment before sputtering into laughter.

“You are ridiculous, Armitage,” he tells me, shaking with mirth. His grin is lopsided and his dimples are out in full force. For some reason, I find myself blushing.

“You're the one stealing food off my plate.” My tone only makes me blush more. I sound sulky, like I’m _pouting_. Ren laughs harder.

My face is burning. I busy myself stabbing vegetables with my fork as Ren laughs at me.

“You're cute,” he says once he has his laughter under control. He sounds impossibly fond, like he actually believes what he's said.

I have been called a great many things, but never cute, and never with the conviction that Ren says it with. He states it like immutable fact, like it's something he's always believed to be true. I ignore it, sure his words are solely for the Resistance, further cementing our relationship as real for them.

Later, when the lights are out and we're in bed, he kisses me softly and I almost think he _does_ have feelings for me, that his act isn't an act at all. I know better, but for a moment I believe.

***

It's sometime in the late afternoon, according to our meal schedule and Ren’s internal clock, and we are reading side by side on the bed. Ren has taken to reading bits of his terrible romance novel out loud for my dubious enjoyment. I must admit, the humour in his voice as he does so is endearing. Odd, given his previous inclination towards being ghastly and intimidating, but endearing nonetheless. 

Even with all the affection he's shown me, I'm still taken by surprise when he moves, scooting over enough to lay down, setting his head in my lap. He's on his back, long legs crooked to keep them from dangling over the edge of the bed, datapad held over his face. I can't see his face past the datapad, but I can see his pink ears where his hair has fallen back to pool in my lap.

I agree with his ears’ assessment of the situation. Ren should be embarrassed to be laying on me like a child. _I'm_ embarrassed.

It is a rather good way of being affectionate while we quietly entertain ourselves though. Even if I have no idea what to do with him now that he's in my lap.

“That seems like a good way to get hit with your own datapad,” I tell him, because I have to say _something_.

“I'm not going to drop it, don't worry,” he says, sounding serene. He's absolutely going to drop it, I’m sure of it. It's one thing to hold a datapad in your lap while reading on it, where your hands are braced against your thighs and the weight of the datapad rests on eight fingers. It's something else entirely to suspend two kilograms of glass over your face, wedged in place by the meat of your thumbs.

Without thinking, I flick the back of his datapad. I'm somehow still surprised when he fumbles it, the device slipping from his tenuous grip to fall the short distance to his face. Ren makes a squawking sound that would be hilarious in another situation, but I’m oddly horrified at my own actions.

Ren manages to catch the datapad before it hits him in the face. He slams it down to his lap to glare at me, saying, “You _asshole_ ,” so scandalized that I can't help but laugh. After a moment, he laughs too.

“I thought you weren't going to drop it,” I tease.

“I wasn't,” he says, “until you _flicked it_ , you _ass_.”

His tone sets me off laughing again. I set my datapad down on the pillow next to me, bending over to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth like an apology. He turns his head just slightly so he can kiss me back properly, flicking his tongue out against my lips. I oblige, opening my mouth to him. He sighs in pleasure, one hand coming up to card through my loose hair.

“This is a very uncomfortable position,” I say into his mouth.

“You owe me for trying to kill me with a datapad.”

I snicker, “I wasn't trying to kill you.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“How about I show you how much I’m trying not to kill you?” I murmur against his lips. He groans and pulls my head down so he can kiss me hard, tongue diving between my teeth to curl behind them.

“You can give me the little death any time,” he says, his voice gone husky with arousal.

I snort. “That was a terrible line.”

“But it's true,” he says, grinning. He sounds so sincere; I’m actually, truly, starting to believe him and isn’t that dangerous. I must keep it in my mind that this whole relationship is a lie, that we’re just playing pretend to keep ourselves alive.

But it’s nice to think that Ren’s act isn’t an act at all.

***

We're in the shower, debriefing after our individual interrogations as is usual for us now. I'm plastered against Ren’s front, arms around his waist and chin on his shoulder, comfortable as I bitch, “I still think they don't believe us. What more could we be doing to show that, _yes_ , we are in a relationship?”

Ren kisses the side of my neck, chuckling at my vehemence. 

“Don't laugh! _Brainstorm_. What can we do?”

“We could have sex,” he states, matter of fact, “It's all that's left.”

I scowl and he goes, “I know, _I know_. I don't mind though. We're stuck with this lie so we might as well. Besides, you're attractive. I like you. It could be worse.”

“I suppose,” I sigh. He does have a point. It's my fault we're in this situation, and we're stuck here indefinitely. We might as well make the most of things and if Ren is comfortable with having sex for the first time to further this lie, who am I to say no? I’m positive he's already aware of my interest in him. He can read my mind; he's all but told me that he can't help listening in on my thoughts about him. They're "so loud", after all.

“I don't mind,” he repeats, voice so soft I can barely hear him over the sound of the water. 

“Even with the Resistance watching?”

“It’ll be payback for all the times they embarrassed me as a child.”

***

I almost expect Ren to jump me after we exit the shower. I keep waiting and waiting for him to make the first move, but he treats me the same as he has all these weeks, months now, casual and surprisingly gentle. Even when we turn out the lights for bed, he keeps his hands to himself. At least, as much as is the new normal for us.

He's going to spring it on me, the bastard. 

Two days later, it's less sprung and more lazily tripped into.

It's first thing in the morning and Ren has held me down to keep me from getting up again, one big hand on my chest as he kisses me, again. He had woken up hard this time and his erection presses hot against my hip.

I bite at his lip and he groans, “Can I?”

He doesn't bother waiting for an answer before he climbs into my lap, a little clumsy under the blanket.

Somewhere along the way, the Resistance had supplied us with proper pyjamas. Ren still sleeps in just a pair of pants, but I wear the full set. I can tell this frustrates Ren now as he shoves his hand under my shirt to get at bare skin, teeth against my throat. He bites down, softly, then sucks at my skin, intent on leaving a mark. 

Truth be told, it frustrates me too. The weight of Ren’s hard cock against me is almost too much, even without any additional friction. I rise quickly under him. It has, perhaps, been too long since the last time I had sex.

One of Ren’s hands curls around my ribs, anchoring him to me while he rests his weight on the other elbow next to my shoulder. The fingers of that hand thread through my hair. He's very thoroughly wrapped around me, taking up my entire field of view, filling every one of my senses. 

I thumb the v of his hips and nudge my cheek against the top of his head. Ren gets the hint, moving to kiss me again, tongue diving into my mouth. He's gotten better at this, less hesitant, making me groan. 

Then he rolls his hips against mine. This _is_ hesitant, stilted and awkward and utterly new to him, but it still makes me see stars. He shudders and moans, distracted from our kiss. I suck on his lip to bring him back to it.

Ren kisses me sloppily but enthusiastic, tangling his tongue with mine as his hips stutter with motion, slowly gaining confidence. I slide my fingers under the waistband of his pants, desperate to have him naked. He moans again and sits back to tug at my shirt.

“Off,” he says, “Take this off.”

I scramble to comply, stripping off my shirt and almost clipping him in the jaw with my elbow in my haste. Ren pushes me back flat with one hand, dipping back down to bite at my neck again, intent on leaving another mark. I groan, frustrated, and pull on his waistband.

“If I have to remove clothing, so do you,” I tell him, arching up to grind against him. He just scoots down so our erections aren't pressed together, kissing his way across my chest. I get the slightest hint of a promise at the back of my head, a silent _soon_.

It takes me until he reaches my navel with his kisses to realize what Ren plans on doing. My cock throbs at the thought and he looks up at me, blanket tented over his head like a shroud, and grins. Slowly, he pulls my pyjama pants down over my erection, freeing it. Equally slowly, he ducks his head down to just… lick it.

I snort, “Very arousing, Ren. Good job.”

“Shut up, I'm new at this,” he snarks back, laughing. His hot breath ghosts over my cock, a phantom touch, and I arch up unto it. Then Ren wraps his fingers around my length and sucks down the head. A groan bubbles up out of my throat, surprising me with how loud it is. 

It is not the best head I’ve ever gotten. It still gets honorable mention for being the most enthusiastic, Ren working me over with his lips and tongue and teeth, intent on finding every little way to make me moan that he can. He dips the tip of his tongue into the slit of my head, slides it around the flare, presses hard at my frenulum. He pulls in as much as he can, hollowing his cheeks, filling his wide mouth until he gags. Even then, he only pulls back the slightest amount before going back down, inhaling slow and deep through his nose as he does.

That is not a trick he should know, I think as, somehow, _somehow_ , he manages to suck me down almost all the way to the root. There's burst of humour at the back of my mind and I realize he's learning how to suck cock by reading my mind. I'm scandalized by this misuse of the Force. Ren just pops off my cock to smirk at me.

“You're terrible,” I say, sounding more breathy than I would like. He grins, lopsided and warm.

“Are you complaining, General?” Ren asks, teasing, before he goes back to sucking my cock.

“No,” I groan, “Not at all.”

_Good_ , I hear without him taking his mouth off of me. 

As much as I am enjoying myself, I want him back over me, close enough for me to touch him in return. I card my fingers through his hair but it's not the same, not enough. I want him naked, his hard cock pressed against mine, his fist wrapped around us both.

Ren gives one last hard suck, the tip of his tongue pressed against my frenulum, before he pulls away and says, “All you have to do is ask.”

“Then get up here, you prick,” I say, giving his hair a gentle tug.

“Asshole,” he says, but he's kicking off his pants. He pulls mine down to my knees before he crawls back into my lap. The one light in the room, from the power bar our datapads are plugged into, paints him a harsh, ghostly blue, the blanket around his shoulders like a cloak. His cock is hard and hot against mine, glistening at the head with precome. I take a moment to admire him, the dark halo of his hair, his full, spit slick lips, the hard shadows his musculature casts all across his skin. 

I slide my hands up his thighs, over his waist, across his stomach. He trembles at my touch. 

I ghost the tips of my fingers down the length of him, first following the thin trail of dark hair leading down from his navel. When I reach his cock, he shudders and moans, “Fuck, Armitage.”

I can't help but feel smug that I have the great Kylo Ren naked and moaning my name, that I'm the first to touch him like this. 

Ren grins and takes both of us in his hand. I hiss at the contact, arching up as he squeezes just the right amount. He starts slow, groans bubbling up from his chest at the movement of his own hand. At the apex of one stroke, he slides his thumb over both our heads, smearing his precome on to me. 

“You feel so good, General,” he breathes, picking up speed. The friction borders on painful with nothing but our precome to ease the way. Apparently reading my mind, Ren pulls his hand away to spit in his palm. I make a face and Ren snickers.

“That's disgusting,” I tell him, even as my cock twitches when he resumes his grasp on us.

“What else do you suggest I do, then, hmm?” 

I sigh, giving in. He's right, of course. There's no better choice, barring perhaps moving to the shower where there's water and soap to ease the way. I am, however, very comfortable where I’m at, warm under Ren and his ministrations. I can put up with a little spit.

Ren laughs at me, breathless and warm, no doubt reading my mind. If he's going to be in my head, I figure I may as well give him a show.

I focus on the warm, velvet heat of his cock against mine, the drag of his hand over us, how good it feels to finally do this with him. How good it felt to be in his mouth. How I want nothing more to flip us over and go down on him in turn, to suck him off until he comes gasping my name.

“Fucking _please_ ,” Ren gasps instead, “Do that, fuck me, _please_.”

I grin wickedly, entirely satisfied with his begging. I don't think I've ever heard him say please before this and it is very fitting that he does so during sex.

I buck up and Ren gets the hint, scrambling off of my lap to lay down next to me, taking the blanket with him. I kick my pants off the rest of the way and kneel next to his thigh, bending over double to fit my mouth around the head of his cock. Ren groans, low and lewd and _loud_. There's no way any further fake sex in the shower is going to fool the Resistance now that everyone and his fucking _mother_ knows he's this _loud_.

He's loud and I’ve barely done anything. At this rate he’ll come _screaming_ my name. 

“I just want to show my appreciation,” he says, surprisingly coherent. The first time I was sucked off, I couldn't form full sentences for a good five minutes after. Then again, I was sixteen and Ren is somewhere around thirty.

I make it my goal to still render him speechless. 

His cock is not overly large, like I expected given the size of the rest of him, but it is proportionate. His girth stretches my lips nicely and, as I slide down the length of him, I can already feel the pleasant ache in my jaw that comes with this act. I don't bother teasing him, getting straight to the point by sucking in as much as I can, going deeper with each bob of my head. 

Ren runs his fingers through my hair once, then leaves his hand on the back of my head, not pushing but still a demanding presence. His other hand gravitates to my knee, squeezing gently as he moans.

“You're so good to me,” he whispers, words quiet in contrast to how loud he voices his pleasure, “So, so good.”

I press the tip of my tongue against his frenulum, tensing the muscle to make a hard point. Ren gasps and rolls his hips up, pressing his cock deeper into my mouth. He doesn't push deep enough to make me gag but I still pull back to shoot him a glare.

“Don't do that,” I scold him, “It's rude.”

Ren just laughs, a soft, breathy, completely un-sorry noise. I frown at him, very much _not_ sucking his cock, until he laughs again, saying, “Sorry, sorry, won't happen again.” Only then do I put my mouth back on him.

I don't swallow him back down though, choosing to instead lick along the bottom from root to tip before sucking gently at the slit. Precome blooms across my tongue and Ren groans deliciously.

“ _Please_ ,” Ren whispers, tugging at my hair gently like he's trying to coax me into moving, to suck him into my mouth again, or to come up to kiss him, I'm not sure which. I do my best to oblige, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of his cock before I swallow him down. I bob my head faster this time, intent on making him come.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” he gasps, arching up off the bed. I shoot him a dirty look over my mouthful, but he's good; he doesn't try to shove his cock further down my throat.

Then he twists a little at his waist, angling himself so he can reach my own cock with his long arms. I stutter in my rhythm as he strokes me with a firm hand, just how I like it. I would be irritated that he's plucked this information from my brain, but it does mean I don't have to keep correcting him. 

Ren huffs a laugh and I pull away to tell him, “Get out of my head.”

“No,” he replies simply, grinning. What a shit, I think, and Ren laughs some more.

His hand on my cock is far more distracting than I’d like. I take a moment to just enjoy it, groaning against his hipbone before I take him back into my mouth. I double my effort to get him off, sucking his cock like my life depends on it.

My efforts are rewarded when, a few moments later, he moans, “Fuck, General -- Armitage, I, I'm --” and his hand goes slack on me. I pull away as his hips twitch up and stroke him to completion. His back arches up impossibly high off the bed. I look up to his face as he comes. He has one hand pressed over his mouth, silent, much to my surprise, with two spots of colour high on his cheeks. His hair is a mess, fanned out on the pillow, curls stuck to his damp forehead. He is absolutely, irrevocably, impossibly beautiful.

He relaxes bonelessly when he's done, arm flopping down on to the bed next to him. He just stares up at the ceiling, panting, for a moment before he grabs my wrists and tugs, pulling me into his lap.

“Come for me, General,” he murmurs, hand back on my cock. I curl over him, propped up with my hands over his shoulders, gasping as his knuckles drag against my belly. He tilts his chin up and I'm compelled to kiss him.

Ren’s tongue dives into my mouth, licking my teeth, before he pulls back to suck on my bottom lip, his hand bringing me closer and closer. He kisses across my cheek to the corner of my jaw, then whispers, “Come on, come on, do it. Come for me,” into my ear.

I shudder and bite my lip, hands curled into fists.

“ _Please_ ,” Ren begs, and that's what does it. I gasp the smallest _ah_ as I add to the mess on his hard stomach. He wrings my orgasm out of me, stroking my cock until there's nothing left.

I sigh and rest my forehead against his, utterly content. Ren still strokes my softening cock, slowly, like an afterthought, and it sends shocks of pleasure down my spine that border on too much. It's pleasant. Wonderful. Quite possibly the best sex I’ve had in quite a while.

“Do you really think I'm beautiful?” Ren asks after a long moment, soft and almost hesitant. I huff a laugh.

“Yes,” I say simply, then, after a moment of consideration I add, “You're strange and wonderful and I adore you.”

The smile that blossoms on Ren’s face is brilliant and warm and just for me.

***

“I'm curious,” I say, distracting Ren from kissing his way across my shoulder, “What have _you_ told the Resistance about our relationship?”

Ren pauses, then pulls away to bump his forehead against mine. His small smile is almost sad when he says, “That you were right; I would have been ordered to kill you to cut off all attachments had we stayed with the First Order.”

I hum acknowledgement. 

“It's true,” he murmurs, “With the destruction of Starkiller, you wouldn't have been of any use to Snoke. He wouldn't have let me keep you.”

I snort at the notion that I am a thing to be kept, then his words sink in.

“You—just _how long_ have you had feelings for me?” I hiss, mortified.

Ren’s sad smile widens before he presses a quick kiss to my lips. I feel… horrified mostly. If I had _known_ that Ren had _feelings_ for me, I would have never gone through with this lie. I feel like I've taken advantage of him.

He kisses me again, harder, and pushes wordless thoughts into my head: warmth, brightness, happiness. Contentment. Like being locked up with me is the happiest he's ever been.

Because it is.

I just kiss him, desperate, hoping he forgives me for using his affection for my own gains.

***

I'm asked increasingly specific questions over the next few weeks. I can tell the Resistance is planning something big, but I can't quite piece it together. It is incredibly frustrating, for both my interrogator and myself. 

“Look,” I tell him after being asked the same things for the nth time, “It might be easier for me to help if I know what you're trying to do.”

He stares at me for a long moment before he types out a message on his comlink. It beeps, signaling a reply, almost immediately. He nods.

“Anka, if you would be so kind.”

She smiles at me as she walks over to my side of the table, gesturing for me to stand. I do, and she takes my arm. Her grip on my elbow is strong, but not painful. Together, we leave the room, followed by my interrogator. More guards flank us as I'm lead, impossibly, to the room where General Organa and the rest of the Resistance leaders wait, huddled around a holo feed.

Organa’s eyes are much warmer this time, twinkling with smug amusement, like she knew this would happen eventually.

“What can you tell us, General Hux?”


End file.
